There was a massive traffic jam on Central Park Road, causing a total gridlock. The cars were not moving at all; they were completely stationary. Some people were stepping out of their vehicles to catch a glimpse of what was happening, while a crowd of onlookers gathered on the street, with more people constantly arriving to see the commotion. I also pushed my way forward through the crowd to satisfy my curiosity, squeezing past people to reach the center of the gathering. Wow, oh my god, Masha Allah! I saw a tall, handsome young man lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Even though blood covered his face and chest, it did not diminish his striking handsomeness. Even a blind person passing by would know that this was an exceptionally beautiful young man. In my mind, I thought, Our people are really something else; out of all these people here, is there no one who can offer him any help? Before I could even finish my thought, another young man rushed into the scene at top speed, panting heavily. Without stopping anywhere else, he went straight to the bleeding young man on the ground. Crying, he shook him gently and pleaded with the onlookers around them: "For God's sake, please help me take him to the hospital! I cannot lift him alone... Please, look at the condition he is in, he isn't even breathing!" However, due to a profound lack of empathy, no one paid him any attention. Instead, they gossiped, telling him to move the body out of their way because they had places to be. An elderly man looked at him and scoffed, "Wait, isn't this ALHAJI MAINAH's son? Why should we help this cursed boy? He is completely useless! Since even his own biological parents have rejected him and cast him out, who would risk getting into trouble for him? It is better to leave him to die; death is the most fitting outcome for a cursed child like him." Everyone there began to bitterly air their opinions about the unconscious young man, who remained completely unaware of his surroundings. The companion holding him continued to weep, desperately begging for assistance, but everyone ignored him. With great effort, he managed to drag him to the side of the road, crying and whispering: "Allah is with you, Alfah. By God's grace, you will not die today. Every living soul has their own trials, and this happens to be yours. May Allah give you the strength to overcome it." He laid him down carefully, went back to the edge of the road, and signaled for a taxi. By Allah's grace, he secured one. Together, he and the taxi driver quickly lifted Alfah into the car and drove straight to the hospital without a single stop. The medical staff rushed to admit him, chiding them for not bringing him sooner. The helpless young man could not find the words to argue; his only concern was seeing his dear friend regain consciousness. He bought a hospital card and was given a list of required medical supplies. He ran to the pharmacy, withdrew money from an ATM to settle the bill, received the items, and rushed back to hand them over. Afterward, he sat down, burying his face in his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he began talking to himself like someone losing their mind: "Nothing will happen to you, ALFAH. You will pull through. Insha Allah, nothing bad will happen. No matter how much you long for death, if your time has not yet come, you will not die; you will only suffer through the pain. I just don't know when you will finally understand what I keep trying to point out to you. Even if you die, Alfah, you have no guarantee that the afterlife will grant you the comfort you lacked in this world. Please have patience; everything passes, and no condition is permanent. I feel in my heart that one day, everything will be fine." He wept out of deep pity for his friend. He had no one else besides Alfah in this world; Alfah was his guardian, his everything, and they shared every joy and sorrow together. Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder. He lifted his tear-stained face to see a doctor standing over him. He scrambled to his feet, wiping his face, and asked in a trembling voice, "Doctor, is he awake? Has he regained consciousness? Is he going to be okay?" The doctor smiled and replied, "Don't worry, your brother is alive. But come along to my office; I need to discuss a serious issue with you." He followed closely, almost overtaking the doctor out of sheer anxiety. The doctor chuckled, patted his shoulder reassuringly, and led him into the office.
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"Assalamu Alaikum (Peace be upon you)." A beautiful young woman called out a greeting as she entered a house that could neither be described as wealthy nor entirely poor. It was a modest concrete block house that clearly showed its age, with patches of the walls chipped away. The house consisted of three rooms: a two-bedroom setup with a living room, a single room, a kitchen located near the exit pathway, a public toilet further inside, and a central courtyard shaded by a large neem tree. The courtyard floor was newly cemented, and though the exterior lacked paint, the rooms inside were neat. A traditional well could be seen just past the entrance, and a bit further ahead was an area for rearing livestock and poultry. In short, the owner of this house was comfortably self-sufficient. On the outside facing the street, there were two attached shops—one had been converted into a room, while the other was used to sell local fried bean cakes (masa). "Assalamu Alaikum!" The beautiful young woman repeated her greeting, wrinkling her nose in a way that only added to her immense charm. She was exceptionally fair-skinned with a reddish undertone, nearly looking like an albino if one didn't look closely. "Is there no one home? I keep calling out greetings! If I walk in and you claim you didn't hear me, I'll have to shout again. Honestly, I'm coming in; I'm tired of stretching my mouth until it hurts!" A woman emerged from a corner holding a plastic kettle, evidently coming from the restroom. "Wallahi, I was in the restroom when I heard you. I knew it had to be a stubborn load like SOFIYYAH. No one else barging into this house shouts and makes a racket like you do." Sofiyyah pouted, her face twisting in mock anger. "Oh my God, Mom! You were the one who told me never to enter the house without shouting a greeting until I hear a response. Now that I did, you're accusing me of making a racket. To you, Yasmeen is always the one who does things right. I just got back and you didn't even say welcome. I'm hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. You didn't even ask, 'Fiyah, you're late today, what held you up?' Instead, you just started lecturing me!" She grumbled as she stomped off toward their bedroom. Her mother smiled, following her, and said, "May Allah guide you, Fiyah. You never change." Entering the room after her, she added, "Alright, I'm sorry, mistress of the house. Did you have a heavy lecture load today, or why did you stay so late?" Sofiyyah began taking off her clothes, protruding her lips like a little bird. "Mom, we actually finished early today. I was so happy thinking I'd make it back in time for Islamic school. But Mom, when we reached Central Park Road, right where it connects to the ALFAH STORE SHOPPING MALL, we got caught in a terrible traffic jam for over an hour. It turns out someone had a horrific accident, and there was no one to help him. That's why I'm only just getting home." Stripped down to her underwear, she kept chatting away to her mother. She stepped closer and asked, "Mom, please unhook this for me." The mother shook her head as she unfastened her daughter's bra. "You really never change, Fiyah. A grown young woman like you still relying on me or Yasmeen to unhook your brassiere. You should be ashamed! I don't blame Yasmeen at all when she teases you." Fiyah just continued to pout. "Let me go check on the soup before it burns; you've completely distracted me," her mother said, stepping out. Fiyah wrapped a small towel around herself, exposing her beautifully smooth, fair legs and well-proportioned figure. Truly, everything about Fiyah's physique was captivating. Her long hair reached the middle of her back. She stepped into the bathroom inside their room. This was Fiyah, a vibrant young woman exactly twenty years old.
"Doctor, you called me in but you're just writing away. I am desperate to know the condition of my brother." Setting his pen down, the doctor said, "Apologies, my friend. What is your name again?" "Malik," he replied briefly. The doctor said, "Nice name. Please be patient, Malik. I am prescribing some different medications because I don't think the previous ones will be effective enough." Malik rubbed his head and sighed anxiously. "Doctor, that's not what I asked. I need to know how he is doing right now. That is my priority." The doctor took a deep breath. "Calm down, he has regained consciousness. We have stitched his wounds and managed to stop the bleeding from the ruptured vein. He is currently receiving a blood transfusion." The doctor paused for a moment, looking intently at Malik before asking, "But how could you allow your brother to consume alcohol? And not just any alcohol, but an incredibly potent wine?" Malik lowered his head, overwhelmed by bitterness. What could he tell the doctor? Should he admit that he knew about Alfah’s heavy drinking but lacked the power to stop him? Alfah was entirely uncontrollable, and his self-destructive behavior had worsened recently. Malik knew that the moment Alfah realized he was in a hospital, a massive confrontation would erupt. "You've gone quiet, my friend," the doctor noted. Malik adjusted his posture. "I know, Doctor. But I am completely helpless; he is beyond my control. I have tried everything within my power to make him stop, but it has all been in vain." The doctor's face darkened with disappointment. "What are you telling me? That is no excuse. Where are his parents? Where is his mother while he destroys himself like this? And you kept this from them? Do you realize what you've done? You have betrayed their trust, and Allah will hold you accountable for hiding their son's critical condition instead of letting them intervene. The alcohol is already ravaging his body. He is lucky; I have never seen anyone abuse this specific type of wine without it killing them outright. He survived by a miracle because it hasn't completely destroyed his organs yet, but you must inform his parents so they can restrain him, since he refuses to listen to you." The doctor handed him a prescription, telling him to purchase it outside as the hospital pharmacy was out of stock. Malik walked out, his mind weighed down heavily by the doctor's words. "Oh Malik, what am I going to do with Alfah? How can I force him to stop drinking? I don't even have the right or the courage to bring this up to him! If I even dare approach Maitama Estate or step near ALHAJI MAINAH's residence to tell them their son is in trouble, I will end up spending the rest of my life behind bars. All I can do is pray for Alfah. May the Almighty bring someone into his life who can rescue him from this dark path." (Dear readers, we are just getting started, we haven't even dipped a finger in yet! I hope you will stay with me as I gradually untangle the threads of this story. Get ready, because ABDOUL-NASSER (ALFAH) comes with a whirlwind of complexities! — Written by Mrs. BB, Mom Muhseen)
Chapter 2
Malik boarded a taxi, consumed by deep worry. He actually dreaded the moment Alfah would fully wake up, because only he understood the volatile tantrums Alfah was capable of. If it weren't for the immense patience Allah had granted him, he would have abandoned Alfah long ago. Almost everyone had abandoned Alfah, and Malik could have done the same, but he could never forget the profound kindness Alfah had shown him in the past. Furthermore, Malik had made a solemn promise that he refused to break; he would keep enduring, hoping that one day, this dark phase would pass. He arrived at a beautiful, state-of-the-art pharmacy and purchased the medication. On his way back, he prayed that Alfah would willingly take the medicine. It was an uphill task; even if Alfah was on the brink of death, he would refuse medication unless he saw Malik crying out of distress—a tactic Malik eventually realized was the only way to guilt Alfah into compliance. Malik sighed deeply, bracing himself.
"Mom, I'm heading to Islamic school now, even though I'm already late. When Yasmeen returns, please tell her to wash my hijab for me," Sofiyyah called out. Her mother, coming out of the kitchen, chided gently, "Don't you have any pity for Yasmeen, Fiyah? She has been out since morning working hard at Jamila's house. She will be exhausted when she gets back. Just wear a different one." Standing by the door as she put on her socks, Fiyah replied, "Alright Mom, I'll wash it myself when I return. I only asked because I've started sneezing and I'm afraid of touching cold water, especially since the weather is quite chilly today." Her mother immediately softened, "Subhanallah! If that's the case, leave it, I will wash it for you. I was just worried about you over-relying on her." Picking up her bag, Fiyah smiled radiantly. "Don't worry, Mom, I'll wear a different one. I'm off. When Dad gets back, give him a big kiss on my behalf!" Her mother playfully lunged to swat her, but Fiyah ran out laughing. The mother chuckled warmly, whispering, "May Allah guide you, Sofiyyah." Fiyah walked through the quiet streets of the estate. The neighborhood was typically deserted during the day, which was standard for Maitama Estate. It was an exclusive enclave for wealthy politicians and high-ranking officials. Fiyah's family stood out as the poor outliers in the area, often looked down upon by the wealthy residents. Yet, her family lived contentedly within their means, and her father worked tirelessly to ensure they never had to beg or look at what others possessed. Suddenly, a luxurious white G-Wagon slammed on its brakes right in front of her. Fiyah exhaled a sigh of relief and smiled at the driver. "You startled me, Rafeea! I didn't know you were back, otherwise, I would have stopped by your place." Rafeea laughed. "Hop in, look at the time! I got back barely twenty minutes ago, rushed through a shower, prayed, ate, and ran out." Opening the door and getting in, Fiyah said, "You know your friend Fiyah doesn't carry a phone, so I haven't checked the time since I left the house." Rafeea teased, "Ah, I forgot your usual excuses! But honestly, Brother Jalal should really let you have a phone by now." Fiyah smiled softly. "You know how strict Brother Jalal is, but he promised to buy me one as soon as I start university." They chatted happily until they arrived at the school.
Back at the hospital, Malik hesitated to enter the room, fearing Alfah had already woken up and would try to flee. He quietly slipped inside, set the medication down, and stared at his friend with deep sorrow. Looking at Alfah's heavily bandaged arm, Malik's eyes filled with tears as his mind drifted back to the horrific event that had led them here. Flashback Alfah was in his private home gym, running intensely on a treadmill. Malik rarely joined him for these workouts, which easily lasted over an hour. Alfah then moved on to lifting a massive, heavy iron bar, hoisting it effortlessly as if it were a mere twig. Malik walked in carrying a breakfast tray, setting it aside. "You've been in here since 7:00 AM and it's almost noon. Please put that down and put some food in your stomach." Alfah completely ignored him, treating him like a silent stone. Malik, never one to take offense at Alfah’s behavior due to a profound promise he had made to Alfah's mother and to himself, stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder: "Alfah, hurting yourself like this changes nothing. You need to accept destiny. There are people facing far worse afflictions who still surrender to Allah's will, yet you choose to rebel against His decree. I promised your mother that I would look after—" "MALIK!!" Alfah erupted with a terrifying roar that shook Malik to his core. He hurled the heavy iron bar away, his eyes bulging as his face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He aggressively advanced on Malik, backing him against the wall. Trembling with fury, Alfah violently punched the wall. Because the wall was reinforced with a special dense concrete, his knuckles split open instantly, and blood poured out. In a chilling, low, and menacing voice, Alfah hissed, "I swear by Allah, I swear by Allah, I swear by Allah—if you ever dare mention any of their names to me again, I will kill myself right in front of you! How many times do I have to warn you?!" Panting heavily, Alfah stepped back. Despite being terrified of Alfah’s explosive temper, Malik refused to back down, believing that coddling him would only ruin him further. "Wallahi, Alfah, no matter what you do, I will always tell you the truth. I am the only one left in your life who will guide you. I must fulfill the sacred promise I made to your mother—" Before Malik could finish, Alfah swung a violent punch at his face. Malik ducked just in time. In his blind rage, Alfah punched the reinforced wall again, completely indifferent to his bleeding hand. His eyes caught a small knife resting on the breakfast tray Malik had brought. Without a moment's hesitation, Alfah grabbed the knife and sliced the main vein on his right wrist. Blood instantly gushed out like a turned-on faucet. Malik let out a horrified scream and rushed forward, but Alfah backed away, wielding the knife. "Don't come near me! If you take one step closer, I will slash another vein! Get out, or I will leave! Just let me die so I can go somewhere I can finally find peace!" Malik wept bitterly, crying out, "Alfah, who told you that suicide brings peace? What good deeds are you taking to Allah as provision? If you die like this, hellfire will be your eternal home! Don't leave, Alfah, please stay!" But Alfah refused to listen. Leaving a trail of blood, he stormed out of the house, walking blindly into the streets. Within five minutes of running out, he attempted to cross a major road. An oncoming vehicle struck him, throwing him into the air, and he crashed onto the asphalt, unconscious and barely breathing. End of Flashback The doctor walked into the hospital room, breaking Malik's train of thought. "Has he still not woken up?" Malik sighed. "No, Doctor. I see you've disconnected the blood transfusion, and the IV fluid is almost running out. Is there another bag to administer?" The doctor replied, "He has received two bags, and there are two left. Is there an issue?" Malik rubbed his forehead. "I just don't want him to wake up before the fluids are finished. The moment he regains consciousness, he will violently rip out the cannula and storm out of here." The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "What kind of a man is he? I can tell he has a fiercely stubborn heart, but it's clear he is running from a deep past trauma. Actually, looking at his face now, I finally remember where I know him from. Sometime ago, I was rushing home from work because my wife called saying there was a medical emergency at home. In my frantic haste, I accidentally rammed my car into a luxurious Anaconda SUV, causing severe damage. A crowd gathered, and the owner of the vehicle came out furious, demanding immediate payment. I didn't have a single penny on me, and despite my begging, the man grabbed my collar and refused to let me go. Suddenly, this young man (Alfah) pulled up in his car alongside his driver. He stepped out to see why the traffic was blocked. When I explained my desperate situation to him, Malik, this broad-minded soul wrote a check of 500,000 Naira to the aggrieved owner, even though the actual damage was worth only 300,000 Naira! I was so deeply grateful, and I always prayed that Allah would cross our paths again so I could repay his kindness if he ever needed help." Malik sighed heavily. "Doctor, his story is very long and painful, and I cannot share it right now. But Alfah is in desperate need of help, and I cannot handle him alone anymore." The doctor handed Malik his professional ID card. "I understand, Malik. Here is my card containing my address and contact details. Whenever you need me, call me. I will do everything within my power to assist you. Do not lose hope." Suddenly, they both fell silent as they noticed Alfah stirring, his face contorting as he slowly opened his eyes to look at the ceiling. His gaze eventually landed on Malik and the doctor. Malik's heart hammered against his ribs, fearing the worst. Before Alfah could even fully process his surroundings, a wave of blind rage washed over him. He lunged out of the bed, grabbed Malik violently by the throat, and pinned him against the wall, his eyes burning like hot coals. "Why did you bring me here, huh?! Didn't I warn you never to touch me?! Why won't you just let me leave this wretched world?!" he roared at the top of his lungs. He shook Malik violently before shoving him to the floor. Alfah then looked at the cannula in his arm and brutally ripped it out, letting blood splatter. Glaring around fiercely, he marched toward the door, threw it open with terrifying force, and stormed out of the hospital. The doctor and Malik immediately gave chase. In his volatile condition, he was a danger to himself, but despite his injuries, Alfah moved with the swift, powerful strides of a strong, athletic man. They ran as fast as they could, but they simply could not catch up to him.
Story Summary
The Accident & Public Apathy: A chaotic traffic jam occurs on Central Park Road due to a horrific accident involving an exceptionally handsome young man named Alfah, who is lying unconscious in a pool of blood. His loyal companion, Malik, arrives at the scene frantic and begs the onlookers for help to carry him to the hospital. Due to deep societal apathy and prejudice, the crowd ignores his pleas. An elder even recognizes Alfah as the cast-out son of a wealthy man, Alhaji Mainah, and states that a "cursed child" like him deserves to die. Malik manages to flag down a taxi alone and rushes Alfah to the hospital.
A Contrast of Lives (Sofiyyah’s World): The story introduces Sofiyyah (Fiyah), a beautiful, fair-skinned 20-year-old woman living a modest but self-sufficient life with her family in a concrete house within Maitama Estate. Though Maitama is an elite neighborhood for wealthy politicians, Fiyah's family represents the looked-down-upon lower class of the area. Fiyah returns home late after being stuck in the very same Central Park Road traffic jam near the Alfah Store Shopping Mall. After interacting with her mother, she catches a ride to Islamic school with her wealthy friend Rafeea in a G-Wagon.
Alfah’s Trauma & The Hospital Escapade: At the hospital, the doctor reveals to Malik that Alfah has survived a severe vein rupture on his wrist combined with the toxic effects of abusing a highly potent wine. The doctor also recognizes Alfah as a deeply philanthropic man who once selflessly paid off a massive debt to save the doctor from a street altercation. Malik admits he is entirely powerless over Alfah's self-destructive downward spiral.
The Flashback & The Escape: A flashback reveals that Alfah's injuries were self-inflicted. While working out in his home gym, Malik tried to convince him to accept his destiny and mentioned his mother. Triggered into a psychotic rage, Alfah prohibited Malik from mentioning his family, punched a reinforced wall, and sliced his own wrist with a knife before running onto the highway where he was struck by a car. Back in the present, the moment Alfah regains consciousness in his hospital bed, he flies into a rage, chokes Malik for saving him, rips out his medical IV line, and flees the hospital at top speed with Malik and the doctor helplessly chasing after him.
There was a massive traffic jam on Central Park Road, causing a total gridlock. The cars were not moving at all; they were completely stationary. Some people were stepping out of their vehicles to catch a glimpse of what was happening, while a crowd of onlookers gathered on the street, with more people constantly arriving to see the commotion. I also pushed my way forward through the crowd to satisfy my curiosity, squeezing past people to reach the center of the gathering.
Wow, oh my god, Masha Allah! I saw a tall, handsome young man lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Even though blood covered his face and chest, it did not diminish his striking handsomeness. Even a blind person passing by would know that this was an exceptionally beautiful young man. In my mind, I thought, Our people are really something else; out of all these people here, is there no one who can offer him any help?
Before I could even finish my thought, another young man rushed into the scene at top speed, panting heavily. Without stopping anywhere else, he went straight to the bleeding young man on the ground. Crying, he shook him gently and pleaded with the onlookers around them: "For God's sake, please help me take him to the hospital! I cannot lift him alone... Please, look at the condition he is in, he isn't even breathing!"
However, due to a profound lack of empathy, no one paid him any attention. Instead, they gossiped, telling him to move the body out of their way because they had places to be. An elderly man looked at him and scoffed, "Wait, isn't this ALHAJI MAINAH's son? Why should we help this cursed boy? He is completely useless! Since even his own biological parents have rejected him and cast him out, who would risk getting into trouble for him? It is better to leave him to die; death is the most fitting outcome for a cursed child like him."
Everyone there began to bitterly air their opinions about the unconscious young man, who remained completely unaware of his surroundings. The companion holding him continued to weep, desperately begging for assistance, but everyone ignored him. With great effort, he managed to drag him to the side of the road, crying and whispering:
"Allah is with you, Alfah. By God's grace, you will not die today. Every living soul has their own trials, and this happens to be yours. May Allah give you the strength to overcome it."
He laid him down carefully, went back to the edge of the road, and signaled for a taxi. By Allah's grace, he secured one. Together, he and the taxi driver quickly lifted Alfah into the car and drove straight to the hospital without a single stop.
The medical staff rushed to admit him, chiding them for not bringing him sooner. The helpless young man could not find the words to argue; his only concern was seeing his dear friend regain consciousness. He bought a hospital card and was given a list of required medical supplies. He ran to the pharmacy, withdrew money from an ATM to settle the bill, received the items, and rushed back to hand them over. Afterward, he sat down, burying his face in his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he began talking to himself like someone losing their mind:
"Nothing will happen to you, ALFAH. You will pull through. Insha Allah, nothing bad will happen. No matter how much you long for death, if your time has not yet come, you will not die; you will only suffer through the pain. I just don't know when you will finally understand what I keep trying to point out to you. Even if you die, Alfah, you have no guarantee that the afterlife will grant you the comfort you lacked in this world. Please have patience; everything passes, and no condition is permanent. I feel in my heart that one day, everything will be fine."
He wept out of deep pity for his friend. He had no one else besides Alfah in this world; Alfah was his guardian, his everything, and they shared every joy and sorrow together.
Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder. He lifted his tear-stained face to see a doctor standing over him. He scrambled to his feet, wiping his face, and asked in a trembling voice, "Doctor, is he awake? Has he regained consciousness? Is he going to be okay?"
The doctor smiled and replied, "Don't worry, your brother is alive. But come along to my office; I need to discuss a serious issue with you."
He followed closely, almost overtaking the doctor out of sheer anxiety. The doctor chuckled, patted his shoulder reassuringly, and led him into the office.
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"Assalamu Alaikum (Peace be upon you)."
A beautiful young woman called out a greeting as she entered a house that could neither be described as wealthy nor entirely poor. It was a modest concrete block house that clearly showed its age, with patches of the walls chipped away. The house consisted of three rooms: a two-bedroom setup with a living room, a single room, a kitchen located near the exit pathway, a public toilet further inside, and a central courtyard shaded by a large neem tree. The courtyard floor was newly cemented, and though the exterior lacked paint, the rooms inside were neat. A traditional well could be seen just past the entrance, and a bit further ahead was an area for rearing livestock and poultry. In short, the owner of this house was comfortably self-sufficient. On the outside facing the street, there were two attached shops—one had been converted into a room, while the other was used to sell local fried bean cakes (masa).
"Assalamu Alaikum!"
The beautiful young woman repeated her greeting, wrinkling her nose in a way that only added to her immense charm. She was exceptionally fair-skinned with a reddish undertone, nearly looking like an albino if one didn't look closely.
"Is there no one home? I keep calling out greetings! If I walk in and you claim you didn't hear me, I'll have to shout again. Honestly, I'm coming in; I'm tired of stretching my mouth until it hurts!"
A woman emerged from a corner holding a plastic kettle, evidently coming from the restroom.
"Wallahi, I was in the restroom when I heard you. I knew it had to be a stubborn load like SOFIYYAH. No one else barging into this house shouts and makes a racket like you do."
Sofiyyah pouted, her face twisting in mock anger. "Oh my God, Mom! You were the one who told me never to enter the house without shouting a greeting until I hear a response. Now that I did, you're accusing me of making a racket. To you, Yasmeen is always the one who does things right. I just got back and you didn't even say welcome. I'm hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. You didn't even ask, 'Fiyah, you're late today, what held you up?' Instead, you just started lecturing me!" She grumbled as she stomped off toward their bedroom.
Her mother smiled, following her, and said, "May Allah guide you, Fiyah. You never change." Entering the room after her, she added, "Alright, I'm sorry, mistress of the house. Did you have a heavy lecture load today, or why did you stay so late?"
Sofiyyah began taking off her clothes, protruding her lips like a little bird. "Mom, we actually finished early today. I was so happy thinking I'd make it back in time for Islamic school. But Mom, when we reached Central Park Road, right where it connects to the ALFAH STORE SHOPPING MALL, we got caught in a terrible traffic jam for over an hour. It turns out someone had a horrific accident, and there was no one to help him. That's why I'm only just getting home."
Stripped down to her underwear, she kept chatting away to her mother. She stepped closer and asked, "Mom, please unhook this for me."
The mother shook her head as she unfastened her daughter's bra. "You really never change, Fiyah. A grown young woman like you still relying on me or Yasmeen to unhook your brassiere. You should be ashamed! I don't blame Yasmeen at all when she teases you." Fiyah just continued to pout.
"Let me go check on the soup before it burns; you've completely distracted me," her mother said, stepping out.
Fiyah wrapped a small towel around herself, exposing her beautifully smooth, fair legs and well-proportioned figure. Truly, everything about Fiyah's physique was captivating. Her long hair reached the middle of her back. She stepped into the bathroom inside their room. This was Fiyah, a vibrant young woman exactly twenty years old.
"Doctor, you called me in but you're just writing away. I am desperate to know the condition of my brother."
Setting his pen down, the doctor said, "Apologies, my friend. What is your name again?"
"Malik," he replied briefly.
The doctor said, "Nice name. Please be patient, Malik. I am prescribing some different medications because I don't think the previous ones will be effective enough."
Malik rubbed his head and sighed anxiously. "Doctor, that's not what I asked. I need to know how he is doing right now. That is my priority."
The doctor took a deep breath. "Calm down, he has regained consciousness. We have stitched his wounds and managed to stop the bleeding from the ruptured vein. He is currently receiving a blood transfusion." The doctor paused for a moment, looking intently at Malik before asking, "But how could you allow your brother to consume alcohol? And not just any alcohol, but an incredibly potent wine?"
Malik lowered his head, overwhelmed by bitterness. What could he tell the doctor? Should he admit that he knew about Alfah’s heavy drinking but lacked the power to stop him? Alfah was entirely uncontrollable, and his self-destructive behavior had worsened recently. Malik knew that the moment Alfah realized he was in a hospital, a massive confrontation would erupt.
"You've gone quiet, my friend," the doctor noted.
Malik adjusted his posture. "I know, Doctor. But I am completely helpless; he is beyond my control. I have tried everything within my power to make him stop, but it has all been in vain."
The doctor's face darkened with disappointment. "What are you telling me? That is no excuse. Where are his parents? Where is his mother while he destroys himself like this? And you kept this from them? Do you realize what you've done? You have betrayed their trust, and Allah will hold you accountable for hiding their son's critical condition instead of letting them intervene. The alcohol is already ravaging his body. He is lucky; I have never seen anyone abuse this specific type of wine without it killing them outright. He survived by a miracle because it hasn't completely destroyed his organs yet, but you must inform his parents so they can restrain him, since he refuses to listen to you." The doctor handed him a prescription, telling him to purchase it outside as the hospital pharmacy was out of stock.
Malik walked out, his mind weighed down heavily by the doctor's words.
"Oh Malik, what am I going to do with Alfah? How can I force him to stop drinking? I don't even have the right or the courage to bring this up to him! If I even dare approach Maitama Estate or step near ALHAJI MAINAH's residence to tell them their son is in trouble, I will end up spending the rest of my life behind bars. All I can do is pray for Alfah. May the Almighty bring someone into his life who can rescue him from this dark path."
(Dear readers, we are just getting started, we haven't even dipped a finger in yet! I hope you will stay with me as I gradually untangle the threads of this story. Get ready, because ABDOUL-NASSER (ALFAH) comes with a whirlwind of complexities! — Written by Mrs. BB, Mom Muhseen)
Chapter 2
Malik boarded a taxi, consumed by deep worry. He actually dreaded the moment Alfah would fully wake up, because only he understood the volatile tantrums Alfah was capable of. If it weren't for the immense patience Allah had granted him, he would have abandoned Alfah long ago. Almost everyone had abandoned Alfah, and Malik could have done the same, but he could never forget the profound kindness Alfah had shown him in the past. Furthermore, Malik had made a solemn promise that he refused to break; he would keep enduring, hoping that one day, this dark phase would pass.
He arrived at a beautiful, state-of-the-art pharmacy and purchased the medication. On his way back, he prayed that Alfah would willingly take the medicine. It was an uphill task; even if Alfah was on the brink of death, he would refuse medication unless he saw Malik crying out of distress—a tactic Malik eventually realized was the only way to guilt Alfah into compliance. Malik sighed deeply, bracing himself.
"Mom, I'm heading to Islamic school now, even though I'm already late. When Yasmeen returns, please tell her to wash my hijab for me," Sofiyyah called out.
Her mother, coming out of the kitchen, chided gently, "Don't you have any pity for Yasmeen, Fiyah? She has been out since morning working hard at Jamila's house. She will be exhausted when she gets back. Just wear a different one."
Standing by the door as she put on her socks, Fiyah replied, "Alright Mom, I'll wash it myself when I return. I only asked because I've started sneezing and I'm afraid of touching cold water, especially since the weather is quite chilly today."
Her mother immediately softened, "Subhanallah! If that's the case, leave it, I will wash it for you. I was just worried about you over-relying on her."
Picking up her bag, Fiyah smiled radiantly. "Don't worry, Mom, I'll wear a different one. I'm off. When Dad gets back, give him a big kiss on my behalf!" Her mother playfully lunged to swat her, but Fiyah ran out laughing. The mother chuckled warmly, whispering, "May Allah guide you, Sofiyyah."
Fiyah walked through the quiet streets of the estate. The neighborhood was typically deserted during the day, which was standard for Maitama Estate. It was an exclusive enclave for wealthy politicians and high-ranking officials. Fiyah's family stood out as the poor outliers in the area, often looked down upon by the wealthy residents. Yet, her family lived contentedly within their means, and her father worked tirelessly to ensure they never had to beg or look at what others possessed.
Suddenly, a luxurious white G-Wagon slammed on its brakes right in front of her. Fiyah exhaled a sigh of relief and smiled at the driver.
"You startled me, Rafeea! I didn't know you were back, otherwise, I would have stopped by your place."
Rafeea laughed. "Hop in, look at the time! I got back barely twenty minutes ago, rushed through a shower, prayed, ate, and ran out."
Opening the door and getting in, Fiyah said, "You know your friend Fiyah doesn't carry a phone, so I haven't checked the time since I left the house."
Rafeea teased, "Ah, I forgot your usual excuses! But honestly, Brother Jalal should really let you have a phone by now."
Fiyah smiled softly. "You know how strict Brother Jalal is, but he promised to buy me one as soon as I start university." They chatted happily until they arrived at the school.
Back at the hospital, Malik hesitated to enter the room, fearing Alfah had already woken up and would try to flee. He quietly slipped inside, set the medication down, and stared at his friend with deep sorrow. Looking at Alfah's heavily bandaged arm, Malik's eyes filled with tears as his mind drifted back to the horrific event that had led them here.
Flashback
Alfah was in his private home gym, running intensely on a treadmill. Malik rarely joined him for these workouts, which easily lasted over an hour. Alfah then moved on to lifting a massive, heavy iron bar, hoisting it effortlessly as if it were a mere twig.
Malik walked in carrying a breakfast tray, setting it aside. "You've been in here since 7:00 AM and it's almost noon. Please put that down and put some food in your stomach."
Alfah completely ignored him, treating him like a silent stone. Malik, never one to take offense at Alfah’s behavior due to a profound promise he had made to Alfah's mother and to himself, stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder:
"Alfah, hurting yourself like this changes nothing. You need to accept destiny. There are people facing far worse afflictions who still surrender to Allah's will, yet you choose to rebel against His decree. I promised your mother that I would look after—"
"MALIK!!" Alfah erupted with a terrifying roar that shook Malik to his core. He hurled the heavy iron bar away, his eyes bulging as his face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He aggressively advanced on Malik, backing him against the wall. Trembling with fury, Alfah violently punched the wall. Because the wall was reinforced with a special dense concrete, his knuckles split open instantly, and blood poured out.
In a chilling, low, and menacing voice, Alfah hissed, "I swear by Allah, I swear by Allah, I swear by Allah—if you ever dare mention any of their names to me again, I will kill myself right in front of you! How many times do I have to warn you?!"
Panting heavily, Alfah stepped back. Despite being terrified of Alfah’s explosive temper, Malik refused to back down, believing that coddling him would only ruin him further.
"Wallahi, Alfah, no matter what you do, I will always tell you the truth. I am the only one left in your life who will guide you. I must fulfill the sacred promise I made to your mother—"
Before Malik could finish, Alfah swung a violent punch at his face. Malik ducked just in time. In his blind rage, Alfah punched the reinforced wall again, completely indifferent to his bleeding hand. His eyes caught a small knife resting on the breakfast tray Malik had brought. Without a moment's hesitation, Alfah grabbed the knife and sliced the main vein on his right wrist. Blood instantly gushed out like a turned-on faucet.
Malik let out a horrified scream and rushed forward, but Alfah backed away, wielding the knife. "Don't come near me! If you take one step closer, I will slash another vein! Get out, or I will leave! Just let me die so I can go somewhere I can finally find peace!"
Malik wept bitterly, crying out, "Alfah, who told you that suicide brings peace? What good deeds are you taking to Allah as provision? If you die like this, hellfire will be your eternal home! Don't leave, Alfah, please stay!"
But Alfah refused to listen. Leaving a trail of blood, he stormed out of the house, walking blindly into the streets. Within five minutes of running out, he attempted to cross a major road. An oncoming vehicle struck him, throwing him into the air, and he crashed onto the asphalt, unconscious and barely breathing.
End of Flashback
The doctor walked into the hospital room, breaking Malik's train of thought. "Has he still not woken up?"
Malik sighed. "No, Doctor. I see you've disconnected the blood transfusion, and the IV fluid is almost running out. Is there another bag to administer?"
The doctor replied, "He has received two bags, and there are two left. Is there an issue?"
Malik rubbed his forehead. "I just don't want him to wake up before the fluids are finished. The moment he regains consciousness, he will violently rip out the cannula and storm out of here."
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "What kind of a man is he? I can tell he has a fiercely stubborn heart, but it's clear he is running from a deep past trauma. Actually, looking at his face now, I finally remember where I know him from. Sometime ago, I was rushing home from work because my wife called saying there was a medical emergency at home. In my frantic haste, I accidentally rammed my car into a luxurious Anaconda SUV, causing severe damage. A crowd gathered, and the owner of the vehicle came out furious, demanding immediate payment. I didn't have a single penny on me, and despite my begging, the man grabbed my collar and refused to let me go. Suddenly, this young man (Alfah) pulled up in his car alongside his driver. He stepped out to see why the traffic was blocked. When I explained my desperate situation to him, Malik, this broad-minded soul wrote a check of 500,000 Naira to the aggrieved owner, even though the actual damage was worth only 300,000 Naira! I was so deeply grateful, and I always prayed that Allah would cross our paths again so I could repay his kindness if he ever needed help."
Malik sighed heavily. "Doctor, his story is very long and painful, and I cannot share it right now. But Alfah is in desperate need of help, and I cannot handle him alone anymore."
The doctor handed Malik his professional ID card. "I understand, Malik. Here is my card containing my address and contact details. Whenever you need me, call me. I will do everything within my power to assist you. Do not lose hope."
Suddenly, they both fell silent as they noticed Alfah stirring, his face contorting as he slowly opened his eyes to look at the ceiling. His gaze eventually landed on Malik and the doctor. Malik's heart hammered against his ribs, fearing the worst.
Before Alfah could even fully process his surroundings, a wave of blind rage washed over him. He lunged out of the bed, grabbed Malik violently by the throat, and pinned him against the wall, his eyes burning like hot coals.
"Why did you bring me here, huh?! Didn't I warn you never to touch me?! Why won't you just let me leave this wretched world?!" he roared at the top of his lungs. He shook Malik violently before shoving him to the floor.
Alfah then looked at the cannula in his arm and brutally ripped it out, letting blood splatter. Glaring around fiercely, he marched toward the door, threw it open with terrifying force, and stormed out of the hospital.
The doctor and Malik immediately gave chase. In his volatile condition, he was a danger to himself, but despite his injuries, Alfah moved with the swift, powerful strides of a strong, athletic man. They ran as fast as they could, but they simply could not catch up to him.
Story Summary